


Some Additional Tales of My Dealings With Rupert Hentzau

by cefyr



Category: Zenda Novels - Anthony Hope
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:32:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cefyr/pseuds/cefyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The slightly scandalous re-telling of three scenes from Prisoner of Zenda, where some of the subtext has become text.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Additional Tales of My Dealings With Rupert Hentzau

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameHardy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHardy/gifts).



> Written as a treat for MadameHardy, whose Yuletide letter I happened to come across and was unable to resist having a go at. I hope it's Rupert-licious enough! It certainly contains lots of thoughts about him :)

In setting down the tales of my adventures in Ruritania, I have been careful to keep the truth well in sight, for it has in many ways been more wonderful and strange than anything a man could dream up by himself. In some respects, though—and I use the word 'respect' here quite deliberately, for I would surely lose the respect of all those closest to me if this last addendum were to come before their eyes—in short, I have at some points twisted the truth to suit my own questionable need for a certain respectability, and though I feel rather a fool for doing it, my conscience will not rest until I retell these parts in the way they actually happened, even though I may well never show this addendum to a living soul. 

Having only just reached the end of my tale of the red Rassendyll line, its origins and the adventurous exploits of its offspring, the reader may wonder what could possibly be more scandalous than that which has already been told, in which case I can only say read on!—and all shall be revealed.

***

The first time it happened, I was not at all prepared, which is my only excuse for how badly I handled the villain's advances. It was that first meeting at the Tarlenheim _chateau_ to which the impudent Black Michael had sent three of his henchmen to pay his respects. Young Rupert Hentzau had only just concluded his speech about my brother's supposed illness, and I bade him goodbye with the wish—quite subtle if I may say so myself—that our next meeting would make us better acquainted. I had expected some snappy comeback from Rupert, but nothing more, not when my men (and his) were there. Imagine my surprise when the rascal drew close to me and, under the guise of kissing the King's hand in farewell, whispered:

"May it make us better acquainted indeed, O King! And may God grant me another regal smile then, for it is surely enough to turn a man's blood hot; I swear that alike as you may be, the other King was never so pretty!" 

I staggered back, cursing the fair Rassendyll complexion, which meant that now my skin went all too well together with my hair. Sapt and Fritz must not have heard what the man said, for they acted only as if he had insulted me, which of course, in a way, he had. But I was not about to tell them in what way! Instead I scowled in his direction, forcing my blush to become one of anger, as he strolled away after throwing a rather devastating smile in my direction.

Like I said, I prefer my villains to be stylish, and Rupert Hentzau was most certainly that, and beautiful too, from his dark flowing locks to his careless gait. A knave and a ruffian, to be sure, but what a knave! Never before or after have I hated someone whom that insolent smile became so well, full as it was of hidden promises of pain or pleasure, all according to his whims.

That first time would not have been much to speak of, had it not been for the times that followed. 

***

I have described young Rupert as a handsome villain, but what I then hesitated to add was that apart from his sharp tongue, whose results I have already touched upon, he also had very quick hands, and even more so when he was not gripping a sword. The second time we met, he utilised both hands and tongue in the most wonderful way, leaving me dazed and much more distracted than I wish to expand upon, especially as he also left me in a most compromised position.

It happened on that day when he came again to the _chateau_ to bring me an offer from Black Michael. I was lounging in the garden outside the house when he was shown in, and did not bother to rise. He had obviously ridden hard to get there, for his cheeks were flushed and his hair unruly. He greeted me with a bow that somehow managed not to contain even a hint of submission, and proceeded to lay out his plans, given to him by Michael. I spurned his offer—of course I did!—and we traded insults and threats, until he rose with a sunny smile.

"I must confess I like you even more when you are angry!" he exclaimed. "There is a blush on your cheeks that suits you most admirably. No, do not frown so, I am merely speaking the truth. The King must be happy to have the admiration of his loyal subjects, surely?"

"I am quite sure you have never been a loyal anything!" said I, glad to be able to come up with something close to a retort with my usual flair. But he merely laughed, as if he appreciated my efforts.

When I rose, he made to kiss my hand in farewell, but I remembered all to well the last time he had done so, and shook his hand instead. Before I could draw it back, however, he had pulled me towards him, and backed me up against the table at which I had been sitting.

"I must admit I am a bit disappointed, Your Highness, that Michael did not offer you the throne", said he, with a wicked glance at me. "Think of the things we could do if I were to have a post at the palace, with easy access to every room in the house—including the King's chambers!"

I shuddered at the thought, whether from disgust or some other emotion I do not wish to ponder. He laughed again, and kissed me, pressing me back against the table. I wish I could say that I struggled, or even that I wanted to, but the truth is I did not, but instead was quite happy to let him do as he pleased. I must say in his defence, that despite all his wrongs—and believe me, they were numerous—young Rupert was everything a man could dream of when it came to those moments when one's higher feelings have given way to baser desires. He made me quite forget what I was supposed to be doing, until I heard the far off voices of Fritz and Sapt, which made me come to my senses. I pushed him away, and he stood there, grinning devilishly, his chest heaving and his collar undone, looking, I am sorry to say, even more tempting than before. I was on the verge of pulling him back when his smile widened, and he pulled his dagger out. He struck me before I could do more than try to duck, and then he ran off, still with that thrice-damned seductive smile on his lips. 

Never in my life have I felt so foolish as when, with blood running freely from my shoulder and my eyes still fixed on the too-handsome backside of my disappearing assailant, I shouted for help, and Fritz and Sapt came running. To this day I have not dared ask what they thought of me at that moment, but I imagine I saw a somewhat understanding light in Fritz's eyes which may have meant that he realised the problem I was facing.

***

I would be happy to say that I did not give way to Rupert again for some time, if it were not for the fact that the third time not only left me in a more compromising situation than the first two, but in fact was not entirely initiated by the young villain himself, but by me. After all, when I chased him from the castle of Zenda after he had jumped from the bridge, I did not have to shout at him to stop, and when he did stop I did not have to run at him with a dagger instead of a sword, and when he answered by drawing his own dagger—well! I certainly did not have to pay him back for earlier by going up close to him and kissing him again.

(This particular turn of events I have glossed over, or not touched upon at all in the book, preferring to pretend that I did not gain upon him at all when I chased him.)

In my defence, I would like to remind the reader that young Rupert Hentzau, who even under normal circumstances turned more than a few heads, had only recently climbed out of the water, that his shirt was white and very thin and thus, at this time, transparent and clinging to his body, and that his trousers, which ordinarily fit him very well, now fit him _extremely_ well. Apart from that, his chest was heaving from the exercise and his eyes glowing at the promise of a fight man to man. I simply could not resist him.

He took it well, for a man who must have been expecting a dagger-fight at the very least and got something quite different instead. That is to say, he swept my feet away from under me, and proceeded to make me very glad indeed that the forest was dark and he at least could not see from the colour of my face what he was doing to me. I responded as well as I was able, and we spent some very agreeable minutes there, agreeing more, I should think, than we had ever done before on any subject. However, before we could reach that conclusion to which we both must have aspired, he drew back, evidently having heard something which I, dazed and excited in all the wrong ways, had not. He rose, then, his chest heaving for entirely different reasons from earlier.

"Well, O lord and master", said he, looking quite delighted to be gazing down at me like this. "I do wish I could stay longer—honestly, I do!—but I hear the hounds baying, and I am afraid that you are in no condition to stop me, even less so now than before. I only wish I could see the face of your young friend Tarlenheim when he realises I got here before him."

"When he realises that you got—oh!" said I, suddenly hearing his words in the way he must have meant them. "But Fritz would never—"

"Ah, well", laughed Rupert, "that says more about his courage than about his own wishes upon the subject, I should think. There—do not say I did not warn you against his advances!" 

With those last words he ran off, leaving me again to stare after him, my shoulder hurting badly and my mind upon quite other things than fighting. And it was in this condition—panting and half-dressed and wet—that Fritz found me, when he came looking for me. For his own sake, and mine, I will not reveal what he said, but to this day he refuses to let me speak of Rupert Hentzau without pausing first to let him curse the villain for a minute or two.

I still believe it was a dashed fine adventure, and I think my old ancestor, she of the portrait, would agree with me.


End file.
